


Infinitesmal

by ShyMossBall



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU tomfoolery, Dreams, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lovers to Friends, Multi, Nightmares, No same-universe fontcest, Polyamory, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Rating May Change, Resets, Undertale Genocide Route, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-09-01 01:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyMossBall/pseuds/ShyMossBall
Summary: Underswap Papyrus Drabbles.





	1. Dread In My Heart

_One, two, three. _

_Breathe in._

_Four. Five. Six._

_Breathe out._

_Six._

_Seven._

** _-999999_ **

Papyrus inhales sharply, jerking up with a quickness that knots his lower spine. His left hand is already grasping loosely at his non-existent throat. The numbers are fading from his mind in a scatter of dust. His sockets, shocked wide open, begin to slide closed. The dark behind them startle them open again as his pulse quickens. Intimately, he slides his thumb and forefinger across his vertebrae, tracing the ghost of a slice that was never made. He glances down at his bare ribs, his breathing starting up again from where it was frozen from the nightmare. Watching his bones rise and fall awakens his senses to the panic buzzing through him, the shivery cold that exists from the inside of his skull to the outside of his soul.

Papyrus sighs.

The artificial light of day hasn’t even played through the messy blinds of his window. The quiet rattle of his bones makes him feel pathetic. He scoffs at himself before lowering to lay back down on his bare mattress. He counts backwards, roping the dispersed numbers back to the center of his skull where they can make sense again.

“Seven, six, five, four, three, three, thre-

Two. One. Two. Three. Four,”

Which he continues as he finally starts to doze. His left hand never leaves his neck bones, petting soothingly over the cut that isn't there.

“Six… seven..”

He breathes softly, willing his soul to calm its skittish flutter behind his ribs.

“Seven…”

The feel of his sockets closing comforts Papyrus, the gentle huff from his nasal aperture almost warm.

“Six….”

**FIVE FOUR THREE TWO ONE **

Papyrus cries out as the bright red lines of a smiley face slices neatly into the back of his eye lids. He sits up and covers his teeth too late.

“Papy? Are you okay?” Sans’ muffled voice is coming from down the hall, the sound of his brother’s purposeful steps nearing Papyrus’ door. Papyrus is nearly choking himself, his left hand tightening around his bones in an attempt to keep his head in place.

“M’fine, Sans…” He croaks out, bones shivering with the lie.

The weight on his mattress startles him as Sans pulls him into his arms. Papyrus hadn’t even heard his door open, the light from the hallway spilling into his room’s messy darkness.

“M’fine…” Papyrus turns his face into Sans’ shoulder, inhaling the clean smell of washed bones and familiar bandana. Sans shushes him, petting the back of Papyrus’ skull with the laundry softened leather of his gloves. Papyrus can’t close his sockets again, letting the press of his face against his brother darken his vision instead.

“It’s okay, Papy, I’m here… The Magnificent Sans won’t let anyone hurt you!!”

It’s a harsh whisper, loud and confident as a snow storm. Weak but honest, Papyrus chuckles. He brings up a heavy arm to wrap around Sans’s shoulder. Realistically, it’s pathetic to have his brother come into his room and comfort him like he’s a baby bones again. His bones quiet down, his soul pulsing in murmurs as he feels Sans’ soul project confidence, love, affection, protection in a sequence, like coding.

**ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX **

Papyrus makes a plaintive noise and grasps at Sans’ shoulder, shivering through the living nightmare. He’s awake, he _knows_ he’s awake, and that Sans is here, and that they’re safe, and

“Papyrus?”

Papyrus slides out of Sans’ arm to face him, screwing his face into a weary smile, “I’m fine, bro-“

Sans’ hollow sockets, permanent sadness etched into his grin, the spill of marrow in a diagonal cut across Sans' ribs through his shirt-

**Seven.**

Papyrus inhales sharply, jerking up with a quickness that knots at his lower spine.


	2. Calm Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus thinks about Sans while enjoying a smoke.

Another cigarette bounces off the tiled floor of Judgement Hall. It rolls, knocking off burnt ash and dying embers. Papyrus snuffs it out with a worn sneaker. He doesn’t mind his mild aggression, doesn’t bother to grimace at the violent streak of black marring his patchwork kicks. The pair of shoes that Sans keeps fixing for him; Sans **had** to fix, five or six times already. The rubber isn’t the same anymore.

_“These old things again?! Really, Papyrus!”_

It’s ritual; Sans knows they are his brother’s favorite dump-find since that first hoodie. His cool bro even made sure to complain after the third time. Then He hid a cheeky grin at the fourth time; Papyrus hardly keeps anything after the first or second rend.

A shoelace got caught under his foot this time, squished between sole and soot. The laundry-washed gray of it joins the smear of filter and ash. It’s not really his style to dirty them on purpose, but today’s a special occasion. When there is no more cigarette to drag across the tile, the sneaker squeaks but the lace is silent.

The birds are singing merrily, unaware, and unafraid. 

Papyrus knows the Queen won’t appreciate the added ruin to her kingdom, but maybe she’ll let it go this time.

_Notwithstanding the end of Monsterkind, Sans would complain about it._

Her Majesty will be more forgiving, seeing how Papyrus is the buffer between her and Deadville. Just a few blood thirsty strides from where Papyrus stands to her Throne Room and that’s _it_\- dust to dust. Unless she decides to kill someone who deserves it today, seeing how Papyrus will literally die trying. Unlikely 

He pulls out another cigarette. Smudges are here and there around his sneakers from where he keeps grinding dropped butts into grime. His sockets are focused down the hall. He ignores the mess.

Fluid as breathing, the cigarette is lit, placed between his teeth, and has the life sucked from it. Papyrus closes his eyes in traitorous rapture as he draws in the smolder. He lets the smoke haunt behind his sternum for a moment, stinging like a bitter ghost around his soul. The kid is _really_ taking their time today. Hopefully someone is making it hard for them out there. Unlikely. Papyrus opens his sockets again, half lidded and calm as he watches and waits.

The Underground is full of softies.

* * *

Some time passes. Papyrus thumbs at the filter of his seventh cigarette. There’s a dirty taste behind his mandible and his mouth feels dry. Any guardsmen outside must be powder by now. _Poor sacks of shit_, Papyrus thinks colorlessly. He doesn’t hate anyone- doesn’t _think_ he does- but bitterness is easy temptation. Like Alphys they’re fools, choosing to fight the knife-wielding murder brat instead of taking cover and hiding their precious loved ones away.

_He’s_ tempted to move. Tempted to shortcut out of Judgement Hall and mourn properly.

_Sans wears a brilliant grin every time Papyrus says he needs to swing by the capital. Papyrus always asks Sans if he wants anything from that sweets-peddler Grillby, but Sans runs over the offer every time. He’s all for the castle. All for the Royal Guard. _

_“Wowzers! Maybe you’ll see the Queen today!” _

_A shine of stars spin feverishly in Sans' sockets. An indulgent grin on Papyrus' face. _

Papyrus brings the cigarette back to the flat edge of his teeth and resists the urge to chew.

Rather, he counts the steps that echo down the hall; It’s three, four, five, six then the kid stands in front of him a few paces. He never says the numbers outloud. He doesn't say anything for a moment, inhaling the last kick of smoke before letting the cigarette drop to the floor. The kid can wait ‘til Papyrus grinds it out of existence. Then he says some words. Silence. He warns the kid. Silence. And then the kid takes another step closer. Papyrus forgoes the apology he owes. He keeps his sockets open, trained on the murderer. The Judge sits behind the lazy look in Papyrus’ half lidded eyes, unabating. Like a fever, like a ghost, it smolders. 

_“Seven.”_


End file.
